


Ends In the Ocean

by carpenoctem22



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Older Pines Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpenoctem22/pseuds/carpenoctem22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Huh,” Dipper says, turning to her. “So what’s that say about us?”</p>
<p>“Probably something deep and philosophical we’ll just forget.”</p>
<p>As another summer draws to a close, the Pines family takes a final trip to the beach - courtesy of Pacifica, who is not melancholy at all, thank you very much. She’s actually quite happy - having a family will do that to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ends In the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I spent last weekend at the beach, and I honestly couldn’t resist Dippica at the beach (plus the rest of the Pines family of course) so here you go. This has absolutely no point except to be sappy, and it also takes place in what’s essentially my happy dysfunctional family AU (aka everyone makes up and survives and apocalypse? What apocalypse?) Also the twins and Pacifica are about 17 in this.

“I can’t believe this is our last hurrah,” Mabel says mournfully, sending Dipper stumbling forward as she collapses on his back.

“ _Oof_ – Mabel, get off!”

“The end of freedom,” Mabel continues, ignoring her brother. “The end of happiness. The end of karaoke and chocolate fountains at 3 am!”

“The last one’s the killer, that’s for sure,” Pacifica says, the corner of her mouth quirking.

“Ma _bellll_ ,” Dipper mutters, still hunched over under Mabel’s weight.

“But Dipper, my feet hurt,” Mabel whines, laughter obvious in her voice.

“But you’re so. _So_. Heavy,” Dipper moans, staggering forward.

“Well geez, you wimp, if I’m that bad-“

“Nah, I’m just kidding.”

Mabel shrieks as Dipper surges forward, her arms seizing around his neck as she bounces on his back. Pacifica covers her mouth, laughing as she watches the twins’ antics.

“I take it back, I take it back!” Mabel yelps, between heaves of laughter. “Where are you – oh, _don’t you_ _dare_ -“

Mabel’s scream cuts off to gurgling as she’s dropped in the surf, splashing wildly. Dipper bends forwards, bracing himself on his knees as he shakes with laughter.

“Dipper Pines!” Mabel yells, staggering up in the water. “I’m gonna – _ack!_ ”

An enormous wave cuts off the last of Mabel’s sentence as it crashes over her, plastering her hair over her face. Dipper yelps as he’s soaked to his waste, stumbling against the currents.

“You’re gonna what?” he laughs after he’s regained his footing, flicking a strand of dripping hair out of her face.

“ _Drown you!”_ Mabel cries, tackling him into the water. Pacifica shakes her head, giggling as the twins’ screams echo through the air.

“They could have at least waited until they were in their swimsuits,” Ford grumbles, walking up next to her.

“What’d you expect, they’re excited,” Stan says, drawing up to his brother. “I’d worry more over whether Dipper’s snapped his stick of a backbone.”

Ford frowns at the sour note in his voice. “Are you still bitter about the boxing incident?”

“No!” Stan says, glaring at his brother. “I’m rightfully concerned for my nephew.”

Pacifica and Ford snort in unison.

“That fight was unfair, anyways,” Stan mutters.

“No, Mabel, I’m sorry – Mab- _agh!”_

Pacifica and Ford wince in unison as Dipper face-plants into the surf, Mabel shrieking as she’s thrown from her perch on shoulders. Stan snorts.

“Well, I’m going to sit over there and ignore all of this,” he says, flatly, walking a few steps away before tossing the mix of beach chairs and towels on the ground. So late in the afternoon, there’s few people on the beach with them, if any. At the start of September, most people are too busy with their school lives (something they’re ignoring at the moment, actually – they’ve got this weekend).

Also, it’s not exactly prime beach weather anymore, Pacifica thinks, shivering as the wind beats against her.

“Thank you, again, for this,” Ford says, staring after his brother. “We’re not in terrible shape, financially, but I doubt we ever could have afforded this.”

“It’s only a weekend,” Pacifica says, shrugging. “And the house isn’t even that nice. It’s no problem.”

Ford raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the beachfront house, with its three stories and elegant balconies. “All right,” he says, a flicker of amusement in his voice. “Thank you, all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Pacifica says, gazing back at Dipper and Mabel, as they trudge their way back, dripping with seawater. “It’s the least I can do, after what you’ve all done for me,” she adds, in an undertone.

Ford gives her a smile and nods, heading over to his brother just as Dipper and Mabel reach them. Pacifica smirks at the pair.

“Have fun?”

“Y-yeah!” Mabel says, shivering violently. “You sh-should’ve joined us!”

“Uh, yeah, no thanks,” Pacifica says, eyeing the blue tint Dipper’s turning as pulls off his shirt, wringing the water out of it.

“R-really!” Mabel says. “The water f-f-felt great!”

“Mabel, you’re literally turning blue, I don’t think – hey, no, stop – Mabel, this is a nice shirt!” Pacifica yelps, stumbling back as Mabel pulls her into a sopping hug. Mabel laughs as Pacifica wriggles free, brushing at the wet spots on her clothing with distaste.

“Thanks a lot,” she mutters, recoiling from the cold.

“You’re w-welcome!” Mabel says, cheerfully, hugging herself tightly. A towel drops on her head, the light blue print covering her face.

“Dry yourself off before you get yourself sick, kiddo,” Stan says, tossing another towel in Dipper’s direction. “I’m not paying for any medicine or anything.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel says, wrapping the towel firmly around herself.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dipper mutters, his voice muffled from where he’s managed to nearly disappear entirely into the towel, hunched over on the sand.

“Crazy kids,” Stan says, ruffling Mabel’s hair. A lone seagull lands nearby, cocking its head at them.

“Ooh, Grunkle Stan, you remembered the bread, right?” Mabel says, darting for the backpack.

“Yup,” Stan says, just as Mabel pulls the plastic bag out. “Go crazy.”

“Just not right here,” Ford interjects, hurriedly. “You’ll bring them all over-“

“Feast, seagulls, feast!” Mabel cries, ignoring Ford as she hurls slices of bread into the sky. Ford buries his head in his book as a flock of shrieking gulls descend around them, pecking viciously at the bread. Stan laughs at his brother.

“Here, sweetie, give your uncle some,” he says. “I wanna see if they’ll eat it off of someone’s head.”

“Stanley, don’t even think about it!”

Pacifica rolls her eyes as Mabel and Stan converge on Ford, slices of bread flying as even more seagulls descend. She sits neatly next to Dipper, who’s still buried in his towel.

“So, did you throw out your back? Or did you just pull a few muscles?” she asks. Dipper snorts, emerging from the towel. His hair is a wild mess, his nose red from the cold.

“I’m not an eighty-year-old man,” he grumbles. “And no, I just caught hypothermia.”

“Hm,” Pacifica says. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Dipper elbows her in the side. She elbows him back, both retaliating until Pacifica slumps against him, her head resting on his shoulder as they watch Stan and Mabel feeding the seagulls. Pacifica glances back at the ocean, watching the light of the setting sun play across the endless water.

“Be right back,” she murmurs, standing up and brushing off sand. She treads slowly towards the ocean, stopping just before the sand turns damp. She wriggles her toes in the sand, the glare of the sun half-blinding her.

Pacifica closes her eyes and breathes deeply, the sharp smell of saltwater stinging through her nose. The wind whips around her, sending her hair flying and her dress fluttering wildly against her legs. The sand shifts between her toes, and she can hear the roar of the ocean in front of her. She grins, lifting her arms out as if she’s flying, exhilarated – she feels _huge._

“Have you ever been?”

“Hm?” she says, cracking her eyes open. Dipper grins from beside her, towel still draped around his shoulders, his drying hair a tousled mess as it whips across his eyes. Pacifica quickly lowers her arms, flushing.

“Of course,” she says. “It’s just – I’ve only ever been to beaches on the east coast lately. Like, Florida resorts, or the Caribbean, and stuff.” She feels another flush of heat in her cheeks as she unwittingly advertises her wealth. Dipper only nods though, eyes glinting in the dying sunlight.

“It’s not the same, right?”

“No,” she says, her voice hushed as she turns her gaze back to the ocean. The waves have grown enormous, their deep green crested with white foam as they crash into the shore, sending Mabel shrieking back as they splash up on her, Stan laughing. She glances at Dipper, watching the way the sun plays in his hair as he stares out at the ocean.

“It always makes me feel kind of small,” Dipper says, after a bit. “With how big it is.”

“Really?” Pacifica says. “It makes me feel bigger. Like I’m… enormous.”

“Huh,” Dipper said, turning to her. “So what’s that say about us?”

“Probably something deep and philosophical we’ll just forget,” she says. Dipper snorts.

“Alright, your hugeness.”

Pacifica shoves him, fighting a grin. “Shut up.”

He obliges, returning his gaze to the ocean. They watch as the sun dips lower, the sky turning a rosy pink tinged with fiery orange. She remembers being here, as a child, watching the same sky, her arms lifted as if she’s flying.

The company’s nicer this time, she thinks.

Dipper starts as a particularly powerful gust of wind sweeps them, ripping the towel from his shoulders. He darts forward, grabbing it before it’s swept down the beach. He straightens up, muttering darkly as he dusts the sand off. Pacifica’s eyes are drawn to his back, her eyes tracing the marred skin. His scars are familiar to her, by now, of course – and it isn’t as if she hasn’t gained plenty of her own.

Still, she thinks, wrapping her arms around him from behind. They’re stark reminders.

Dipper seems to have the same thoughts, she thinks, as he runs his fingers over the burn scars on her left arm.

His fingers finally drop to hers, lacing them together and squeezing briefly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“You always say that,” Pacifica says, her face still pressed against his back. “What are you thanking me for again?”

Dipper hums, and she can tell he’s smiling. “For a lot of things.”

“Hm,” she says, leaning back. “Well, thank you, too.”

Dipper swivels his head to glance at her. “Can I copy you and ask what for?”

“A lot more things, probably,” she says. Dipper rolls his eyes, spinning her out in front of him.

“I highly doubt that.”

“You shouldn’t,” she says, thinking of cold hearts and cruel words and lonely rooms.

“Maybe a bit,” Dipper says, and she imagines him thinking, of pointed laughter and desperate craving and the same drowning loneliness.

“Just a bit,” she concedes. Dipper smiles.

“I’ll take it.”

Pacifica smiles as he pulls her in, her hands tangling in his knotted hair as she pulls his head down, crashing their lips together.

Which is nice and romantic for about one second – after which she’s realized the wind decided to contribute a good chunk of her hair between their mouths.

Pacifica yanks back abruptly, the mood ruined, spitting hair and brushing quickly at her mouth. “Oh – _mph_ – come _on_ -“

“ _Eugh_ ,” Dipper frowns, wiping his own mouth with an expression of disgust. “How much hairspray do you even use?!”

“ _Excuse_ me, no one asked you to taste my hair,” Pacifica grumbles, shoving the offending hair back. “Are you _ever_ going to be able to kiss me properly?”

“Wha – I – oh, so this is my fault now?” Dipper sputters, crossing his arms. “How am I responsible for _your_ hair?”

“It wasn’t my hair – which incidentally, has a _perfectly_ normal amount of hairspray in – it was the wind. And you.”

“Seriously?” Dipper says, rolling his eyes. He uncrosses his arms, pulling her back in. “Here, I’ll show you-“

“Hey lovebirds, catch!”

Pacifica yelps as they’re pelted with bread. Dipper groans.

“Grunkle Stan, _come on-_ “

Pacifica glares at Stan and Mabel, reaching for the bread on the ground. She can hear the seagulls beginning their descent behind her.

“We’re attacking them with bread, and then Mabel’s going back into the ocean,” she hisses. Mabel yelps, backing away nervously. Dipper smirks.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Grunkle Stan, don’t let them get me!”

The beach echoes with shrieks as the four chase each other, bread flying back and forth as the seagulls screech in excitement. Ford lifts his head out of his book momentarily, shaking his head.

“Ridiculous,” he says, a faint smile on his face. “Ridiculous.”

The waves crash in response.


End file.
